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History of the Orang Kingdom
See also: The Orang Kingdom Turn 0 }|turn00| cheap looking cardboard box with giant steam propellers crashes into your island. You open it to find an orange hairy puppet -- monkey-like, and very fat. A voice clip plays as the puppet does a shitty dance that annoys you. Hello and welcome my friends. Hello, and also welcome. Because this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Maybe you have heard of the Orang Kingdom of the Hot Air Aisle. Maybe you have not, because we just invented air travel. Either way, I bet you know what this is. hear a jangling sound. Another voice reminds the speaker that this is an audio recording. Well, this is gold. Really good gold. The best gold. Our workshop chimps say they need it for their circuits or something, but I am sick and tired of these lousy deals with the workshop chimps. What have they given us lately? Besides air travel? voice says something about solving audio compression and puppet physics. Shut up you lousy chimp! Where was... Trade. We should trade! I don't see why we all shouldn't be trading, and colonizing and slaving and such. If you agree, please send us some of your money. If you disagree, please send us some slaves. That's the best way for us to communicate. Again: yes, money. No, slaves. The universal language, am I right? The universal language. I am Grand President Jara Koog. You are hearing this through a puppet of my body. Please give it to your most breedable daughter as a token of my very, very honorable intentions. The future is Orang, my friends. in the box: a photo of a giant trash fire; a map of the Hot Air Aisle with a red dot labeled "the trash fire" in the middle; and a note that reads "look out for the trash fire because that is when you know you're in Orang Paradise.” None of this gives you any idea how to get there. }} Turn 1 }|turn01| Dear Mr. Jara Koog, This is simply too much. No longer shall we proud morality apes suffer this cruel carnival country. This latest edict – having the workshop chimps perform dangerous experiments, on-stage, in casinos all around the island – has shocked us to a collective epiphany. Among the rapturous cheers of the bloodthirsty orangs, the inexplicable whoops of science-crazed workshop chimps and the moans of pleasure from the bonobos, we morality apes find ourselves ashamed and adrift in our ancestral homeland. Our brothers, from whom we ate bugs, who ate OUR BUGS, have lost their way. We have tried chiding. We have tried helpful little morality lessons. We put on a lot of seminars that, despite poor attendance, held striking insights into the very nature of the primate soul. But we have concluded that we are the only thing holding back this country from sinking into a whirlpool of self-destructive hedonism, and Mr. Koog, we are tired of swimming. The one thing stopping us from fleeing the Orang Kingdom and creating our own, wiser nation to the south is our lingering sense of solidarity. We will grant you one chance to convince us to stay. Please, sit with us, convene as the sages always have, and let us craft a more noble path forward. -- Dootrus Figs, Thoughtleader of the Morality Ape Convocation in Charge of Deciding the Ideal Name For our New Nation Dear Thoughtful Admirer, It’s really so nice to hear that. This reminds me of a funny story. Please write again soon. --KOOG NOTE: It appears you sent this letter without a cash bribe, so you have received a generalized message. Please try again with a little grease, if you know what I mean. Develop Income x1 Develop Culture x1 Culture Research Expand South Results -44 (16-60) +18 (78-60) -49 (11-60) +13 (73-60) “The primateriat have nothing to lose but their chains!” Koog yawned, pulling the cord on his window. The blinds unrolled, falling against the pane and covering up one ape on a rock and an odd hundred sympathizers thumping their chests at the edge of his property. He yawned again, scratching his grand, presidential rump as he ambled over to his grand, presidential desk. Wasn’t that the Fig guy? If he wanted to decide the name of the nation, he’d have to go through the proper channels. That is, they’d have to get it out of their President’s mouth by sticking a finger down his throat. He knew exactly what to call it, and that’s that. He ambled back over to the window, peaking through the blinds. There was an awful lot of them, though, weren’t there? If they wanted to have a good discussion, that was fine, but they could leave him out of it. (+3 Culture) Dear Governor So-and-so, It’s really, really great to hear from you. I’m glad Jaraland is coming along so great. Excellent! Can’t wait to tour the place, you know? Tell me what day you cut the grass, and I’ll come down and play eighteen with you, go out on the town. —KOOG ^Extra: How’s your daughter? (Expansion successful! +2 all resources, +1 Income) }} Turn 2 }|turn02| The loss of the morality apes filled the Orang Kingdom with a strange feeling. Was it melancholy? No, everyone agreed that the morality apes were pretty annoying. Was it anger? The boisterous orangs and baboons wanted to get mad at the apes for leaving, but couldn't muster the energy. No, it was the disrespect that felt so strange -- how would Jara Koog, the pugilist powermonkey, respond to such a flagrant repudiation of his authority? "It's a surprise, what we're going to do," Koog said at a recent press conference. "It's a bad deal, what the apes offered me. When I get hit, I get hit back. But you've got to be surprising. You can't telegraph anything. So who knows? Who knows what I'll do to those damn dirty apes?" Then he smirked and crossed his arms, in that fun pugnacious manner that endeared him to the Kingdom. The question of the apes would have to wait until after Come to Work Drunk Day -- that wondrous holiday where bankers invest twice what they can afford, baboon constructors throw planks at anyone walking by, and bonobos lower their standards to the point of bedding common houseplants. Happy Come to Work Drunk Day, and fuck you too! Develop power x1 Develop income x2 Develop culture x1 Results -35, -24, -50, +3 Come To Work Drunk Day was a tradition. Tradition is the act of taking a habit and passing it on to everybody else, like your coworker and your children. Celebrations broke out with spontaneity all across the nation. They broke out in the markets. On the trading floors. At the watering holes. In the hospitals. The death toll was in the dozens, but the injured toll was many times that. And the economic toll! Old, wizened grandparents sat in their rockers, sipping from their bottles and talking about the good old days. The good times, when they were young, and when they didn’t have newspapers. In the days of fallout after their national holiday, hundreds of stories cropped up about Jara Koog, drowning out the holiday stories as they always did. One headline dominated the rest: WE’RE GONNA DO NOTHING “It’s exactly what they’re not expecting,” says Jara Koog in his Grand, Presidential office. “Get a load of it. Nothing. Can you believe it? It’s genius. I know. I came up with it. And I’m smart. Really smart. That’s why I got the job. Nothing.” This grand gesture started a new wave of novel pastime throughout the nation. It was a sensation. Everybody was doing nothing, or at least as little as they could. It seemed that all of the Orang, or whatever they were supposed to be calling themselves, were taking a long, hard look at their life. But not too long. (+3 Culture) }} Turn 3 }|turn03| JARA KOOG PRESS CONFERENCE: PLATINUM EDITION Faithfully transcribed by Pippy, the littlest scriber monkey. KOOG: Hello, hello. Room’s a little empty today. Can’t help but notice. Guess you monkeys think it’s Don’t Come to Work and Be Drunk Day! Ha! That was three weeks ago. URSULA MUBOO, CLIMB TIME TIMES: Supreme President, we wanted to ask you about that. None of the morality ape journalists have been showing up to work. KOOG: Isn’t that nice? A little peace and quiet, I’ll tell you. MUBOO: These were apes that chose not to follow their brethren to the new ape colony -- KOOG: Hold it right there. You said colony. There is no colony. I’ll tell you when there’s a colony. With what the workshop chimps are brewing up, there’ll be a lot of colonies, believe me. But the apes just aren’t smart enough. They couldn’t hack it. They came to me saying “Koog, Koog, how do you do it? How do you lead so effortlessly? And the way you style your hair so it curls up and back and then up again, and then does the loop thing -- you must be so virile!” And I said “I am. I have sex a lot.” MUBOO: Okay-- KOOG: So I made a deal with the apes. And that’s what I’ll be talking about today. BLUMB OLEO, ALL ABOUT CHIMP MAGAZINE: Sir, I really want to talk about the workshop fires-- KOOG: Who’s the one standing on the table? OLEO: You are, sir. KOOG: Like I was saying-- OLEO: 5000 dead-- jumps on the table until no one else is talking KOOG: Like I was saying. I made an amazing deal with the apes, and they’re happy now. And I have the business opportunity of a lifetime for all of you. I’m proud to announce that in the southern Trash Aisle, we have a new haven for trading, commerce, and voluntary servitude. banner unfurls behind Koog, reading: “Caver’s” Bay KOOG: Yes, at “Caver’s” Bay winks, we have all the finest “caves” winks even more you could want. Maybe you want a strong “cave” to build you things. Maybe you want a saucy little “cave” girl to fill your lonely nights. One thing’s for sure -- if you think you know what I mean, come down today! No more questions. Out! Out! Get them out of here! journalists are thrown out of the room by Koog’s baboon guards, screaming things like “is that a euphemism?” and “that makes no literal sense, who are you trying to fool, ouch, stop biting me.” Once they’re all gone, a morality ape wearing an actual suit of locks and chains comes and carries Supreme President Koog out of the room. I, Pippy, the littlest scriber monkey, am left to ruminate and feed on donut scraps. Develop income x2 Research "cavery" x2 Results +30, -24, -43, -40 JARA KOOG PRESS CONFERENCE: NOW WITH 100% LESS KOOG! Ardently recorded by Pippy, the pint-sized scribe. FEN: Thank you all for keeping the screeching to a minimum. I’m- VARN: Yeah, I have a question! FEN: Well, I haven’t even had the- VARN REDBACK OF THE GRAPEVARN: Where’s Koog?! And what’s a female doing at the press stand? SANDY FEN: President Koog is currently on a caving… expedition. My name is Sandy Fen. I’m the new press secretary as of this Koogvember. Now, if I could just deliver a statement, and then we- CHEECH: Yeah, hi! FEN: …If I could just- CHEECH BOULDER OF ROLLING STONED: When you say ‘caving’. And then right immediately afterward when you say ‘expedition’. Could you explain what those two words mean in this situation? And does it have anything to do with the private beach where President Koog was reportedly seen entertaining literal waves of females? FEN: I cannot. And no. CHEECH: Well… is it going well? FEN: That’s what I wanted to address today. President Koog sends his regards, and says that business is booming. Caver’s Bay is already producing thousands of exports, not to mention imports… squints at the paper on her podium, picking an unidentified bug out of her chest hair and eating it. FEN: …if you know- what I mean? BARRY BLUJEANS OF BANANAS BIMONTHLY: Hi, Barry here. Just looking for an update on the workshop situation. The Workplace Safety Initiative that was supposed to be finished by this week hasn’t, as far as anyone can tell, done a single thing, and yet all of its funds- FEN: I’m sorry, but that’s all the time I have. No more questions. leaves the room in a hurry, sheltered away by burly gorillas — leaving the press to grumble amongst themselves. I remain apart from the crowd, from the heat of discussion. As always, I am your leaf-bug, dear reader. Yours faithfully, Pippy. (+3 Income in Jaraland) }} Turn 4 }|turn04| CLIMB TIME TIMES PRIMATES ON THE STREETS Jara Koog is moving forward with plans to establish slavery as law in the Trash Aisle. What do you think? (Research slavery x4) Results 74, 100!, 77, 45 CLIMB TIME TIMES PRIMATES OFF THE STREETS Amidst (some) public outcry, it seems Jara Koog’s latest triumph in domestic policy is already in full swing! We asked you to write in your personal stories about how the new labor law is affecting you: ~Hones Horn, a Business Ape in farming and textiles I don’t see what big deal is. Nothing change for me except more chips in account. Maybe I throw nice party for my business friends. They deserve it for hard work. ~Benny Calzone, a Gibbon bartender Work’s been getting harder around here. Jimmy didn’t come in today, I’m guessing because he mixes with some Morality chumps. Now I’ve gotta work double shifts. I hope the boss doesn’t get some… you know, cheap labor in here to replace me. ~Celia Kant, a young Ape Celia didn’t write anything, but she did send in a nice picture of herself and her father, who is depicted on the other side of the page, manacled, and with blue dots streaming off his face. The Grand President himself even lowered himself to our humble station to force us to publish this statement on his behalf: You think that’s good Just wait. I’m talkin about WORLDWIDE!! Its gonna be the best thing thats ever happened ITS GONNA BE THE BEST THING THATS EVERY HAPPENED!!! People All Over The World, they’ll come here, they’ll say “hey, they’ve got a Good Thing going, maybe I want a piece of that.” Boom. Sold. Slaves are the future. Slaves. Are. The. Future. Technology Established:「Uncompensated Labor」! For every military success or enemy province Raided by any nation, for the next six (6) turns, the victor/raider may ask the Orang to recruit one “Slave” unit on their behalf. The Orang get a +20 bonus on this action and can perform it in addition to all their other turn actions, but it may cost Culture from the asking nation in addition to whatever costs the Orang may choose to impose. Orang do not lose culture from「Uncompensated Labor」or any of its side-effects. In addition, they can Raid their own territory as a Military action, losing some development and risking social upheaval to immediately recruit one “Slave” unit. “Slave” is a ground unit that starts with two (2) Scars and a fighting bonus of -20, but can add a +5 to one Build or Develop action per turn in the province they’re in. Upkeep: 5 Energy per turn. }} Turn 5 }|turn05| It was a cold winter, and the heat of the trash fires hardly helped. But it was a big, juicy, full moon, so there was no helping it -- the Moon Festival was afoot. Baboons all around the Orang Kingdom ripped off their trousers and proudly shook what their mommas and considerable plastic surgery gave them. Not everyone enjoyed their procession of derrieres, red and bulbous, shining in the moonlight like traffic lights, but the Moon Festival is core to baboon culture. And so the orangs let loose and shook their rumps; the workshop chimps sighed deeply and bumped their booties; the bonobos, frothed to sexual fervor by the primal display, did so much butt stuff doctors would be removing errant deposits for weeks to come. Perhaps there is something poetic in the image of the hiney: twin orbs dancing in concert, completion and duality, the first mitosis of the cell enshrined in flesh. Or perhaps it was the lingering aftereffects of the baboons’ potent bootyweed that engendered such good vibes. Regardless, in the wake of the Moon Festival the Orang Kingdom was flush with productive energy. Stage plays were spicier than usual, business monkeys actually gave a hoot about their jobs, and one brave spider monkey led the expedition northward for Koog’s second settlement. Develop culture x1 Develop income x1 Expand north x2 Results 81(+17), 85(+21), 31(-32), 89(+30) Spider monkeys have always been the most adventurous apes. While the baboons claim the most townships named after them and the workshop chimps set the corners of forts, in the days of frontiers, it was always the spider monkeys blazing the trails, forking the roads, and contending with the flora and the fauna. Geoffroy squatted on a rainslick boulder, his fifth limb lofting a lotus leaf above his head. He hugged his journal to his chest, scratching it with a coal he took from the morning fire. {Rain today, in the depth of winter,} he scratched. {It seems the jungle makes its own heat.} The charcoal cracked. He cursed, brushing the remnants onto the rock to turn into black slurry. He licked his fingers, grimacing, and reached into his fanny pack, grabbing another piece of charcoal. {Days pass slowly in the bush. My journal tells me it’s been nearly a month since the Moon Festival when I left, but it feels like my entire life I’ve lived here.} He flipped a page, lurching as his lotus leaf umbrella tipped, dumping a load of water out in front of him. {But I remember the fervor of the festival like I’d woken up the next morning, the night rhythms staying up long into the day. Hopefully, my mate has moved on by now. If the bootyweed worked, she should nearly be at term. If she was in front of me now, I could apologize for everything. But she didn’t understand.} He turned the page. {How could she? She didn’t see it fall. How could I remain in the comfort of society with that image in my mind? Yes. Already, I remember it more clearly than her face. I’m sorry, Mico. For everything.} The thundering upon the lotus leaf let up for a moment, and a spear of light glared from a puddle. Geoffroy looked up to where the canopy ended at the cliff. The clouds, bright with sunlight, pulled across the moon. Something was different about it. Something must have changed. The sparkles and reflections were nothing compared to the eclipse, but they dressed the rolling trees beneath the cliff with a kaleidoscope of colors. Birds sang like morning. {I know they’ll follow me,} Geoffroy scratched. {I know they’ll bring society with them, with all its warts and rumps and errant deposits. I know it can’t last. But for a while, I want to live in this land that only the moon has claimed. Just for a while.} (+2 Culture and +6 Income in the capital province.) (Expansion successful! Moonland: 3p 4i 3c) }} Turn 6 }|turn06| Nihilism. Taboo to our people for so many years, it feels strange to even write. Yet it has been rattling around in my head like a sickness. Nihilism. We were masters of meaning, us morality apes. The philosophical systems we invented were towering metropoli of meaning, bulwarks against the wilderness of unconscious action. We sat, high and mighty, in our fortress of reason. There was never any cause to return to the vulgarities of amorality. But. For all our philosophy, our debates, our hard-fought goodness tempered in the fires of rigorous self-discipline, we are still slaves. No seminar will change the fact that we live in a hell world, governed by a spiteful, greedy, thuggish, vain, and frankly moronic orang. We toil in an endless cycle to produce fleeting pleasures. As slaves, we don’t even have the dubious blessing of numbing our existence with said fleeting pleasures. We suffer, we sleep, and we rise to suffer again. Thus, I have reached a new conclusion, one that may shock those of you slow on the uptake. The world has no meaning. Any attempt to construct our own meaning is an exercise in desperate self-deception, for nothing lasts, especially not the machinations of apes. We have no duty to no ideal at all. It is thus incumbent on me to do whatever gives me the most personal benefit. So I’m going to go ask about overseeing some slaves. Maybe get myself a new bed crate. If you don’t like that, you can just go fuck yourself. -- Dootrus Figs, Amorality Ape Develop income and power x 2 in Caver's Bay Train amorality apes as "cave overseers" ---- Results +19, +12, +15, -31 I wrote to you the other day about nihilism. Meaning is dead, I said. It remains dead, and we have killed it. Well, I have some great news for you, friends. Meaning is very much alive. Ha ha! The world is full of meaning! You can find it underneath every rock and in every grain of sand. I found I today scraping my bowl for afternoon meal. We find it in the answering of every question as well as the asking. It is the foolish man that can look at- “Back to work, ape!” the overseer shouts. Dootrus Figs shrinks from him, tucking his piece of contraband paper into his shackles as he recoils. The overseer, who was an ape himself, raises his whip, sneering a particularly amoral sneer. “You don’t understand,” Dootrus Figs says. “I didn’t come here for this. I came here to enslave-” “Shut it, you ape!” the overseer shouts. “Back to work!” VFX: Whip cracks, screams. Across the nation of Orang, there is a great transmigration of apes discarding their morality. Many of them discard the pen and take up the flail. Others nearly miss the handle of the flail and instead take up a life of vigorous labor. The vast majority stay home and write about it. The rest of the world moves on. Power, +3 Income }} Category:History of Al'jann